Piano Sonata 8 in A Minor
by QueSeraSera
Summary: Chapter 9, the epilogue, is finally up! Will Dorothy end up with Roger happily ever after, or will she move in with the insidious Beck, doing his laundry, cleaning his bathroom, and other such degrading things? COMPLETE.
1. Chapter 1 Prologue

Disclaimer: I don't own Big O or anything Mozart's written.

Chapter One

I sit at the piano, my fingers lightly persuading the keys into motion. I pause, and sit for a moment, pressing one key over and over, feeling its resistance against my synthetic skin. I an compelled to lift the lid and watch. To see, how my own man-made hands, affect this other man-made thing. I want to see… How I can press the keys and a sweet and slow Tchaikovksy waltz will melt the room like sugar does on the tongue. Or maybe a piece by Mozart would do best.

I remember Instro once teaching me something written by this Mozart. I remember listening. Listening very hard- because the moment the first note was played I felt something deep within me stir. I requested to hear it once more before I sat at the keys and played it myself. This music, this man, _Mozart… He reminded me of my place in the world. He reminded me of my isolation and my foreignness. He who was a tortured soul, some say, could still manufacture his emotions to reach others' ears. He could still communicate to others of his sensibilities, his failures, his deepest inner demons, and in his own special way. _

I do not like him. Perhaps it is envy. 

Nevertheless, I place my fingers over the keys and begin the song. Its tempo is a hasty one, however the tune itself is full of rejoice. It displays to me thoughts of urgency, the need to get up and move, to run, to dance, even though I know I was not made for it. I want to try.

As Roger passes me with the usual threatening scowl – I realize that maybe he thinks my choice today a little obnoxious. But I do not show that I care. Of course I do not. I play again. Simply to tell him, with my song as the words, about my craving, my need… To say, I want to know more about this thing called life… To cry out without sound, let Mozart speak for me!

The song ends with a light "_plink, plink," and I shut the case over the keys. I get up and follow Roger to the dining room, but he has not stopped to wait for me. Apparently, he has not gotten my message. _

Yes, I do not like this Mozart.

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Yeah, well. I know I've posted this before, I just thought it could do with some editing. Hopefully it makes more sense now. =) Well, please go on to the next chapter if you're interested, okies?


	2. Chapter 2

Disclaimer: I don't own Big O.

Chapter Two

That damn robot!

            Roger lay in his bed for a moment listening to the piano playing loudly and with a vengeance in the next room. His head throbbed. What is this, a racetrack? Sounds like the goddamn William Tell Overture… Damn robot… 

            Curses and only partly-enthused malice ran through his thoughts as sleep tried to cover him like a warm wool blanket. As the piece played itself into metso-piano, and the notes reached an almost unbearably fast tempo, he stopped mid sleep-addled curse. He couldn't quite get back his train of thought. For a moment he felt as if something had been revealed to him, something deep, and rich, and warm… Like a brief taste of dark and succulent chocolate. Maybe this song wasn't so bad after all. 

And as soon as he thought it, he shook his head, and threw his bed-sheets onto the floor, which ballooned and then lazily settled into stillness. He was supposed to be _angry at these little morning escapades. They disturbed his sleep, damn it! True, if he had an alarm clock, it would do the same, but still! It was the concept of the thing!_

Striding over to the door, he paused, and opened it as quietly as he could. He held his breath. 

He could see Dorothy's face over the top of the black and well-polished piano.

She almost ruthlessly pounded the keys with her smooth and delicate-looking fingers, obviously oblivious to his presence. The piano's top was opened and propped up, and there she sat, music ringing as beautifully as the day Mozart himself played it, staring into the dark box where the strings resided. Not sure if he was imagining it, he thought he could see an expression of rapt attention. She stared as though her life depended on it. He almost laughed at himself when he thought, she looks so sad… And immediately closed his door.

It's an android you're dealing with here, he scolded himself. Not possible. Not possible. 

That's right, he thought. Just an android… Right? 

Anger suddenly boiled up, and he raged, how dare she? How dare she play something like this?

He opened his door pompously, shooting a scathing glance over at the android. Her face was expressionless once more, and he almost sighed in relief. 

No more of that. Thank god.

And as she started to play the piece once again, he nearly ran out of the room in a panic, heading straight for the dining room. Breakfast would be there. Delicious coffee. He would eat quickly and leave before he had to see her again. He smiled faintly, feeling slightly relieved at the thought.

~ ~ ~ ~ ~ 

*booty dances* I'm bored. Go on to the next chapter if you feel like it. It's all edited and pretty now. See the majestic moose. Moooooo. OMG, can you die from boredom? *panics*


	3. Chapter 3

Disclaimer: I don't own Big O.

Chapter Three 

Roger had eaten breakfast fairly quickly, and had left shortly after. I decided to sweep the entrance hall to see him leave, and say goodbye, if he was in the mood for such pleasantries. Was it not customary, anyhow? After all, I was _created to be as human as possible. And humans said hello and goodbye to each other often, so I heard._

_Shhp__, shhp.__ Shhhp. The broom was fascinating me. Such a pleasant sandy yellow color for the bristles (yellow was said to be the color of happiness), and not one frayed twig… All sewed together with red string. I wondered at the simplicity and yet its need for the intricate in order to function properly. I bent my face closer to the broom to examine it – This was happening to me more and more often. _

            I would start doing a task and my mind would wander… I would sit and think about things that I knew really did not matter… Such as the intricate little veins in synthetic flower petals, or one of Pero's cat hairs that I had not bothered to dust away from my dresser top. I merely wanted it there. Or even the never-ending gray clouds in the sky. Sometimes I would look at them and something I knew had nothing to do with clouds would enter my thoughts. I would see animals and trains… telephones, faces. 

I hear the door click and I look up.

Roger had just left.

"Roger Smith, you are a louse." I say to the door. I fancy it laughing at me in its grandiose oak solidness. _You can't get insults through me,_ it would chortle.

I take the broom in my hand with a bit firmer grasp, finish up my sweeping, and go to find Norman. Maybe he has some household task for me that may keep my thoughts from wandering.

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Sorry this chapter's so short. I thought it might be okay to end it there though, at least for now. I really don't know if I should continue this story… It's kind of bland, don't you agree? I could always think something up though, there's plenty to go on so far. I could even think of some pretty interesting crap to continue with… But, that's only if you, the readers want me to. So please review! And fill it with sugary sweet maple syrup if you want me to continue. ^______^


	4. Chapter 4

Disclaimer: I do not own Big O.

Chapter Four

Roger came home late that night. As he got out of his car, he paused to look at the serene black-indigo sky. It was glittered with white diamonds and wore a sash of the Milky Way tied around its waist. He sighed, slowly and contemplatively breathing in and out the cool and crisp night air.

He was pulled out of his reverie by a slight grumbling of his stomach. Hmm, whatever happened to that egg salad sandwich twelve hours ago…? Ah, well. 

Barely even remembering that he closed and locked the door behind him, he yawned loudly and without remorse through the almost museum-like stillness of the house, trudging up the stairs in the process. He headed towards the kitchen, where there was a note taped to the microwave: Chicken soup, two and a half minutes.

The negotiator smiled. It felt so good to be taken care of every once in a while.

After he had on his night clothes, he wrapped his robe around him and wandered in the general direction of the balcony, while sipping on his steaming mug of soup.

The hallway was dark. Nearly pitch black, indeed, but every time he passed a window, the faintest of glows revealed itself, as if starlight and moonlight had drifted through mesh and obsidian, and had become a residing mist. Little specks of dust had roused themselves at Roger's passing, making them dance in the dim silver light.

"Good evening, Roger."

He flung the mug up into the air, contents and all. It almost seemed an eternity as the mug flipped itself over, letting the liquid and noodles splash all over the wooden floor before it smashed itself on the surface. His moment of peace was now over.

"Dorothy! Don't sneak up on people like that!" He snapped, trying in vain to wipe the spots of broth off his robe before they seeped through. After he had only rubbed it in and made things altogether worse, he grunted in dissatisfaction. "What are you doing up so late anyway?" He asked, finally, looking up at her. "Oh." It appeared that she was wearing a black spaghetti-strapped nightgown… About two inches of lace was trimmed at the bottom… Which was a good three inches above mid-thigh. What on earth was an android doing with a thing like that (and wearing it, for that matter)? Was it getting hot in here? He cleared his throat, or tried to.

"I'm sorry I startled you, Roger." She said. You could almost hear the sarcasm. "As you know, Norman left for his vacation this morning. He was most adamant that I get dinner to you every night and make sure that you ate it." She paused, "But it seems as though you've just thrown it all over the floor. Come to the kitchen and you can look for something else, if you're still hungry." She turned and did not look back. Roger had been meaning to slip away and say goodnight, say he wasn't hungry (even though it would be a lie), anything. For some reason he couldn't. As if a string was tied to his waist and the end was held in her strong yet delicate hand, he followed silently. And it felt quite nice.

**~ ~ ~ ~ ~**

Jeez I'm really sorry it's another short chapter. I'm also sorry you had to wait so long for it (for those of you who *have* been waiting, that is…). Oh boy. The next chapter may or may not come out very soon. Depends on if I have a whole bunch of homework next week, heh. ^.^; Here's some incentive for the wait though: I can promise some definite conflict next chapter! You just wait and see. It'll blow your minds. Just like this: ka-BLAM! =D


	5. Chapter 5 The Moonlight Sonata

Disclaimer: I don't own Big O

Chapter Five – The Moonlight Sonata

The quickly cooling chicken soup had been left forgotten in the enchanted corridor. There was no time to think about that though, because Roger needed his dinner. The butler made her promise to always have dinner ready for Roger when he got home. Of course she would. It was Roger. She thought it as if it were natural. But of course, my dear sir, _naturally_ (I would follow you to the ends of the earth, let alone make you dinner). There was that ache again… It was so alien, and almost frightening, but just lately, it was becoming common—almost expected, when she was in his presence. What could it be? 

            And what to fix him? Did she know how to cook anything? Well… It couldn't be that difficult, right? Norman did it all the time, and didn't seem to put up too much of a fuss. There should be nothing to it. Just as she started towards the pantry, mercifully, Roger put a hand on her shoulder.

"Err—Don't worry about it. I'll just make a sandwich." As he got out the bread, Dorothy seated herself at the butcher block table and watched as the negotiator went about making a delicious, most fabulous, exciting, heart stopping, an on-the-edge-of-your-seat, um… Tuna sandwich.

Mission: Accomplished. He took a big, hearty bite and closed his eyes for a moment as he chewed with slow relish, and swallowed as he sat across from her. Dinner was served. What was this that she felt within her silicon and computer-chip body? What word could possibly describe such a… A _complete_ feeling? Fulfillment? Strange how seeing Roger Smith, first class louse, take a monstrous bite out of a sandwich could evoke such a thing.

Roger looked up from his sandwich for a moment.

"Dorothy, could I ask you a question?" He held the ever-present no-nonsense manner that he always got when he was negotiating with something particularly difficult. Whatever he wanted to say, it was obvious that he was still struggling over whether to say it at all. 

"You just did." Oh, damn her mouth. There slid onto his face that "preposterous, god dammit!" expression. It was almost childish arrogance and yet ever-so-civilized dismay. Only Roger Smith could pull something like that off and make it look so good. His inner struggle was showing on his face, as well as the fight to keep it hidden. A smart-ass remark was not something he had been expecting, and it had put him off track. But before steam began to shoot out his ears, she added on, "But if you would like to ask another, please do."

He sat down on a stool opposite from her and set his sandwich down. He stared at it for a moment, as if to collect his thoughts.

"Dorothy… I've always wanted to ask you this. But I never thought it would be… Tactful." He was still looking at his sandwich. Dorothy looked up at him sharply, with a subtle expression that said, simply, bullshit. He had never tried to disguise his misgivings about the why's and how's of Dorothy, and why should he now?

"I guess what I'm trying to ask you is…" He ran a hand through his hair and looked up, finally knowing exactly what to say. "Dorothy, what do you think humanity means? Or love, what is it to you? If you see a couple kissing each other, do you wonder why? Do you ever wonder about the purpose of laughter? If you see someone laughing do you think it's pointless and empty? Do you ever… Just question why we're here? What fate is, and if it controls us or if we control fate? Do you ever question why you and I… If we could…" His voice trailed off and he looked back down at his sandwich, slightly embarrassed that he had let himself go. It was against the rules for negotiators to do such.

"Roger..." How torturous it was to look at him like this and not be able to smile or to frown or to run into his arms crying. She knew very well she was incapable of all three, and what a curse. He was speaking in words what she was trying to tell him all along. Listen to my sonata, Roger, please. Listen to this beautiful song. I've been trying to tell you, but you weren't listening. And now you're asking me the very question I wanted to answer. How ironic that it was you felt the exact same way all along.

After a long moment of silence, his face seemed to change, as if realization dawned, mingled with an overwhelming sense of rejection. She hadn't answered.

"Never mind. It was a stupid question," he said with a false smile plastered on his face. He stood and made a motion towards the door, and Dorothy stood, as well, trying to prevent him from leaving.

"Roger, wa—"

"Goodnight, Dorothy." And with that, he shut the door behind him and the sound of his muffled footsteps faded into the darkness of the house.

~ ~ ~ ~ ~

Wow this was hard to write. And once again I cannot apologize enough for the shortness of the chapter as well as the lateness. I had promised it much sooner than it was delivered. Sorry again.

I hope there was enough conflict. It was promised, after all. There should be more in the next chapter as well, just wait and see! Reviews will speed up the writing process, as usual. And it may actually take only another few days for the next chapter(s) to come out. I've got so many ideas this time! ^___^

-QueSeraSera


	6. Chapter 6 The Guest

Disclaimer: I don't own Big O or any of its characters.

Chapter 6

It was just past dawn. The mansion's windows were portals to the cool blue sky, silk ribbon clouds floating with the reflection of the sun still shining their cheery sherbet pinks and oranges. Dorothy was the first up that morning, to clean the forgotten soup off the carpet in the enchanted corridor. It had indeed been some enchantment, thought Dorothy. How stupid of her to let him leave after something like that. She would have to have a long talk with him as soon as he woke up. Yes, that would be the best thing, she was sure of it. She had to hear the rest of what he was going to say. It sounded so important. As he had spoken the night before, she felt the electricity moving through her wire and light veins zap her pleasantly, as though her heart were skipping a beat.

Her heart, if indeed a heart she had was light and airy today, however, slightly dismayed. Even if Roger did feel "that way" about her, what could be done about it? Could she give kisses? Could she marry him? Could she… Uh, ahem… But, no, that was nonsense! If she were human, her face would have turned three shades of red. Why think of such things? Only she could know what she was capable of… Had she been built with…? _That_? With resolve, she made a mental note to, uh, find out about that issue. Oh, if only she could blush…

That brought up another issue that sent shudders of what she supposed was despair through her body. Would Roger want children? If he did, there would be absolutely no chance of getting them from her. Would he really want such a barren and cold being to marry, and share a bed and home with for the rest of his life? He would grow older and older, while her looks of youth would remain, constant and evergreen. How could she possibly watch him, the man who held her synthetic heart so tightly and painfully, slowly age and eventually die right before her eyes? What would she do? Her reason for living would have ceased completely, yanked from her with a violent and agonizing tug. What would she do after such a thing?

The more she thought about it, the more the light and airy heart she had begun the day with, sank. Perhaps he was better off with that blonde woman who called herself Angel. Her legs gave out on her and she fell to the ground as quietly as she could, forgetting completely the soup stain on the floor. What an awful and deadening thought that was! It made her usually stoic face to contort in an expression of utter pain. She clutched her chest where her mock-human heart was, and could have sworn she felt a burning, all-consuming despair rattle her veins. But… If it allowed Roger to be happy for the rest of his days… And he _would_ be happy, too… Perhaps she could bear it. Angel was beautiful and a fully matured woman. Dorothy was forever cursed to be the perpetual woman-child, the little girl with the voice like a nightingale and talent playing the paino. Angel could marry him, age with him. She could give him pleasure and children and happiness until death do they part. What could Dorothy give him that could measure up to that?

Yes indeed, the more she thought about it, the more did it seem that Roger's outburst the previous night was not so much reluctant passion and love, and more just uncomfortable curiosity.

Her face slid into its usual blank expression as she heard steps coming down the stairs leading to Roger's room. Hurriedly, she grabbed the bucket and sprinted back to the kitchen, where she dumped the water and searched frantically for a place to hide. His steps were coming closer and closer, oh no, what would she do? She felt the electricity zoom through her veins just a little bit quicker. Spotting the back door at the very last moment, she shot out of it quicker than a bolt of lightening, and ran down the deserted alleyway.

Why was she doing this? She was acting so foolish! Just where did she think she was going? Norman was gone on holiday, and would be for another week. How was Roger supposed to get his meals? There were chores to be done around the house. Where would she go, if she could not return to _him_? As an android, she felt the tug of her master and master's house calling to her, compelling her very convincingly to go back right this instant. Was she forever doomed to feel the need of a lord, someone who would tell her what to do? It was ingrained upon her. Androids were pets, they were there for human use and control, do be done with as the slightest inclination and whim indicated. It was just when she wanted to escape when she turned around and headed back with her head sadly watching the pavement move slowly backwards. Right foot, left foot, and then more of the same. It was back to the source of her newly found pain and pleasure, her love and her curse.

Dejectedly, she opened the back kitchen door and entered the mansion once again. There was Roger, sitting at the table with a bowl of cereal. The door shut behind her, and his head shot up with a look of embarrassed surprise. They looked at each other, both seeming to expect a sharp reprimand or something of the sort. A very long and uncomfortable silence followed the usual morning greetings. Roger went back to his cereal, looking as though he were having some trouble swallowing. Dorothy took her apron out of a cupboard and put it on, getting things ready for the daily chores. She reached out for the door into the hallway, when she heard him speak suddenly from his seat at the table. She paused.

"Dorothy…" His voice sounded scratchy and groggy. "I'm sorry about… About last night. Lets… Let's just forget it ever happened okay?"

At this, she whipped around, feeling for some reason hurt and angry (if those were, indeed, the right words). Just because she was an android did not excuse her from the feeling of indignation.

"Roger Smith, you are the biggest louse I have ever met." Her voice had risen only slightly, but it was enough to gain a very shocked expression from him. There was something in her voice that he had never heard before. It sounded so… Forlorn, forsaken, and utterly without hope. Never had he heard such a concentration of emotion in her voice. She was motioning to open the door once again, and he shot out of his chair, grabbing her arm, not even aware of himself or what he was doing. She stopped, even though she could very well have pulled herself out of his grasp. Her eyes were on the floor, her eyebrows knotted in one of her rare moments of emotive expression, this particular one of unreserved anguish.

"Wait…" He held her arm as tightly as he could. He refused let her go just yet. "Dorothy… Would you just look at me?" His voice had the command that negotiators have in abundance. She turned her head slowly, dreading what she would find in his eyes.

Her eyes met his, and she almost fell down in a sudden swoon, something she had never felt before. Imagine that! An android, fainting! His expression was so tender and intense, she just wanted to… To… Oh, his lips - they looked so awfully soft and enticing, his perfectly shaped nose and forehead, his masculine and yet refined jaw and cheekbones, and his black hair was messy and attractive; for such a meticulous personality, he looked so damn good when he was so out of sorts. And his handsome face was coming so close to hers… She felt her eyes slide shut in anticipation, her mouth opening for his kiss…

_Ding dong!_ Rang the doorbell, so loudly and suddenly, that the two jumped. Dorothy, abruptly coming back to herself, fled the scene with as much dignity as she could muster. The door, she had to get the door, of course! She left Roger there, not daring to chance one last glimpse of his face for fear of losing herself altogether. She would surely faint if that happened again! Her circuits must have been overloading, because she felt an unpleasant zap just behind her left ear as she opened the door. Yet another surprise awaited her at the other side. There stood the last person on earth that Dorothy wanted to see - ever, as a matter of fact.

It was none other than Angel, with two suitcases at her feet and a taxi driving off down the street behind her. What a pleasant thing to be left on the doorstep. Dorothy had half a mind to chase the cab down and tell the driver that there must have been some kind of mistake. Angel? No, we didn't order an Angel. Take it back, I refuse to accept this delivery, sir!

"Oh, hi," said the blonde woman, nodding at Dorothy and picking up her suitcases. She seemed rather apprehensive. "I'm here to see Roger, if that's alright." She waited while Dorothy just stared incomprehensibly. "It's rather urgent." Her weight shifted impatiently, and the android moved aside for her hesitantly. She showed her into the parlor, and told her to wait. If she could have scowled, she would have done so, with gusto. Too bad she had already used up too much energy in that department this morning… She would no doubt spend half the day plugged to the wall, recharging. Something had most definitely snapped within her.

Quickly and with as much indifference as she could muster, she stuck her head in through the kitchen door. Roger was sitting at the table with his head in his hands, in an uncharacteristic pose of frustration. For some reason anger surged through her, and she felt sure that her face was turning green with jealousy. He wasn't thinking of her! How could she have possibly thought that he was going to kiss her? What a fool she was! For the first time in her life, she felt the humbling pain of rejection. Of course it was Angel, who was the only one who could give him the true bliss that all men surely sought. Angel was the only one he could possibly love with all of his heart, with all of his soul. How could he love an empty shell of refined metal and silicon - electricity and lights flowing through her veins instead of blood? What an idiot Dorothy was, to actually fool herself into believing, for even a fraction of a second, that he could love her.

"Sir," she said curtly, "A lady is here to see you. She says it's urgent." And with that, she fled once more to her room, daring herself to never leave it again. For no reason would she leave it! Even if a thousand megadeuces came pounding on her door, demanding that she come out, she would refuse! She would sit motionless and stare out the window, gathering dust for ages, by god! As she ran, she felt her strength waning more and more… Soon she would collapse, as her battery came to its last ounce of energy. Her feet dragged along the carpet, her arms were swinging at her sides as if they were two anvils. If she didn't make it to her room soon, she would fall to the floor in a coma. How long would the two lovers leave her there, lying in the middle of the hall, she wondered? Her room was so out of the way, no doubt they would live their entire lives before she was found. They could be married, have their children, and die of old age, and she would be there, stranded, her battery dead and corroded beyond repair. How horrible it would be to die that way, completely conscious of her own broken heart, and how happy her love was without her.

As soon as she reached the sanctuary of her room, she locked the door behind her and plugged herself hastily into the wall. Sighing with relief, she lay back on her bed, falling quickly into a deep and fretful sleep.

(Oh my god, has it been a long time. I am so, so sorry, you have no idea! I lied in the last chapter, but I really didn't mean to. It just kind of happened that way. Writer's block really bites… I doubt that the next chapter will take too long, but I've never been very reliable in that aspect, have I? Well, we'll see. At least it has come this far. For incentive (and for those who are about to give up on me), I don't plan abandoning the story, it like it far too much. So, at least the story will reach the end, no matter how long it takes. Many reviews will most definitely quicken the writing process, without a doubt.)


	7. Chapter 7

Disclaimer: I do not own Big O.

Chapter 7

Dorothy awoke many hours later, with a sharp pain residing in the back of her head. Something was broken, she was sure of it. One of her chips had fried, her circuits had overheated, something… All she knew was something was definitely not right. As she sat up in her bed, she clutched her forehead in a curiously human gesture, trying to brace the heaviness that she felt. Did she need oil? Did she still need recharging? She just didn't know. What could it be that made her feel so strange? She was groggy and her limbs were weighted and leaden. She was very aware of the fabric moving over her skin; she heard it move and felt it move, with a slight, scratching, zinging rustle. What coarse fabric it was. How odd it was that she had never noticed it before? Slowly, she got to her feet and looked through her closet and drawers for something that was not quite so stiff and restricting. After many minutes of silent debate, she decided to put on some of the dance clothes that Norman had bought her so long ago. If she remembered correctly, he had given them to her in the pretext that he thought she was a dancer. She was just so thin and statuesque that it was obvious; what else could she have been designed for? This, of course, had been at the very beginning of her stay at the mansion, before they had gotten to know her reclusive and deliberate ways.

In that way she was very much like Roger. He sought seclusion, just as she always had. When company was desired, what better could there be than just two in a group? A larger gathering prevented the kind of personal understanding that she longed for above all else. She was a uniquely jaded and world-weary being and those who could identify with and accept the reasons for that were worthy of her undying respect. Alas, very few people knew the true and ghastly ironies that fate can inflict on poor, unfortunate souls such as hers, if indeed a soul she had. Yes, just two people in overstuffed chairs before the fireplace, with books open and a comforting, blissful silence for garnishment was Dorothy's dream of absolute happiness, and she could have sworn that Roger was a compatriot in this dream. Perhaps she had been mistaken.

Nonetheless, she resumed her daily toilette, putting on the black stretchy pants with the drab gray lines up the sides. The sweater was not much different, being a rather light zip-up, with the same gray lining along the sides and inside the hood. For her shoes, she chose some nice and malleable black Capezio shoes, another gift of Norman's. For some reason, she wanted to be very casual today. She could have sworn that it was a simple lack of apathy, and that was probably correct. She usually lacked just that, so what made today any different? She simply did not want to wear that silly dress that seemed to demand her constant formality.

And there was another alien word for her: "want." Since when did androids want and need beyond their master's wants and needs? It was not natural. It only proved to her beyond a doubt that she should go visit the mechanics maintenance shop later on. Something was definitely off. However, the problem with that was it would make her dodge her daily duties once again, and what would Roger have to say about that? Not much, if she could help it.

She didn't want to see him. She knew she didn't. She didn't want to be restricted, and she didn't want to see Roger. And Angel was still there, she was sure. What other reason could there be for her showing up with two suitcases? And what if he had actually invited her here? That would definitely explain away what Roger was so distressed about... She could not chide herself enough for walking willingly into that beguiling illusion, even for a fraction of a second…

Dorothy determinedly walked down the hall, examining the purple twilight of early evening. Her mechanical body went into stealth mode; something she was not programmed for, but had gradually learned anyway. As quiet as a cat, she strode through the halls with one destination: the front door. If she could make it there without incident, she would be satisfied. She continued on, just approaching her goal, just a few more steps would lead her to a temporary salvation.

Oh, curses.

It was with this thought that Dorothy ran straight into a broad, formally clad chest, white-striped tie and all. She jumped back, wary of his sudden intrusion.

"Where are you going?" He asked, his arms now folded in the business-like reproach of an employer.

"I need some repairs," she said gruffly and refused to say another word.

"You seem fine. What's wrong? And why are you going out in your pajamas? It's almost seven!"

Ah, Roger: the archetype of tact.

"I don't know. That's why I'm going to the shop. And these aren't pajamas," she explained in a monotone.

"Then what would you call them?" He asked.

"I don't know. If you'll excuse me…" She made a gesture towards the door. He continued to block her path.

"Roger, what…?" A sudden urge to break something or scream came upon poor Dorothy like a tidal wave. What was this all about? Why couldn't he just let her go on with her business? Why couldn't he go back to his little pink-clad streetwalker and leave her be?

"Dorothy, I'm not letting you leave until we straighten this out."

Hesitantly, she stepped backwards and waited.

"What has been going on with you this week? You seem different than when you came here… What I mean is… You're acting very strange." His frustration was rising once again. He was a negotiator! A smooth-talker who could talk his way through any conflict, no matter how unsolvable, why on earth did he always lose that when talking to Dorothy about emotions, something she shouldn't even comprehend?

"Will Angel be staying with us for very long?" She interrupted. She relished the look of further confusion that came to his face.

"Ah… That is to say… Yes. She's, ah, having a bit of a crisis at home, and she needed a place to stay." He seemed a bit upset for the subject having been changed.

"Oh, I see. Is that all?" She asked.

"No, that is not all! If you'd quit trying to confuse me, I'd be able to get this out! Ah, ahem, that is…" He spluttered and laughed nervously as he saw Angel's face peering out the kitchen door at them. He grasped her by the arm, and led her into the chamber adjoining his room. The piano was the solitary figure within its walls, seeming to lament for its loneliness. Roger only stopped pulling her when they had reached it.

"Why didn't you play the piano this morning?" He pointed at it, his face the example of childish frustration.

She was taken slightly by surprise.

"I… I forgot." She said, her voice very quiet. Did he actually like her waking him up that way? "Is that what you're upset about, Roger?" She asked, rather disappointed.

"No! I'm upset that you keep running out on me! Every time I think we've finally gotten through to one another, you always manage to run away. Just stay for a minute, and let me say everything."

She didn't dare to get her hopes up this time. She had learned her lessons from before, he couldn't possibly be talking about what she hoped he was. He was talking about a friendship and nothing more.

"You once asked me, if things had been different, would we have maybe fallen in love." He took a step towards her.

She refused to believe. He was talking about the piano, and not about love. It was impossible.

"Well… My answer to that is…"

He couldn't…

"I already do love you."

(Well… That's the end of the chapter. Sorry it's taken so long, and no doubt you're furious with me for ending it right there, but, well… It couldn't be helped. Chuckles evilly And now, without further ado, I have some replies to some rather interesting reviews, lol…)

Haein: LMAO… You make me laugh! D Of course that was only said to prove a point. Angel is a woman, and Dorothy is a machine. Which would a man logically chose? If I were a man, even though I'm not, I would probably choose the one with real flesh. Dorothy, obviously, has the same assumption.

Sandalwoods:o.o Well, here's the chapter… Please don't poke my voodoo doll…

Sakura Blossom-Cilla-85: Dorothy MUST think that much, because what else can she do! Her only other escapes are playing the piano and cleaning up after Roger, for god's sake, what would you do? Lol…


	8. Chapter 8

Disclaimer: I do not own Big O.

Chapter 8

"You're a liar."

"What?" Roger asked, his face suddenly blank.

"I said you're a liar." She stared into his eyes, her own searching, gleaning for any kind of truth. Anything but what she had just heard. It must have been some kind of joke. But if it was, it was far from amusing.

"But…" he began.

"You think I don't know what you're trying to do," her voice was threateningly low. "But I do."

"Dorothy, what-"

He was interrupted once again, by her low, mechanical monotone.

"You asked me, the night before last, what I thought being human meant, in so many words. Well, Roger, I know what laughter and love and sadness are, even though I am just a pretty pile of scrap metal and silicon. I know that you have always been curious about how I work, at least on a mechanical and habitual basis. But if you or Angel think this is funny, may I inform you that I don't, and that I am here completely by my own will. If you continue to tease me in this cruel manner, I feel compelled to remind you that I am not bound here and I can leave any time I wish." At this, she stepped back prepared to leave for the repair shop.

Before her eyes, steam literally began to shoot out of Roger's ears.

"Leave? _Leave_? Any time you wish? You wouldn't leave me! Where would you go, you ungrateful robot?" He shouted.

"I hear that Mr. Beck is advertising for a maid…" she said, stung by being called a robot, but was prevented from continuing by the rather loud spluttering of Roger.

"BECK?" He had now lost all semblance of self-control. "_BECK?_ You wouldn't dare!" He had grasped her shoulders in his anger.

"Wouldn't I?" She said, calmly as ever.

"You know as well as I do that that man is a complete ass!"

"It takes one to know one," she said, in her infuriatingly lucid voice.

"Dorothy R. Wayneright!" He began to shake her, with as much strength as he could muster (she was rather heavy, after all).

"Ye - es, - Ro - ger?" Came the broken reply.

Pushing her away suddenly, and began to pace irately.

"You want to leave? Fine, go! See if anyone here cares! Things were just fine back when it was just Norman and me, why did you have to come along and ruin everything?" He seemed to be trying to convince himself more than her, "You've made my life nothing but chaotic and miserable ever since you got here. I've said it before and I'll say it again, women are nothing but trouble. You're no different, damn it, even if you _are_ an android! I wish I'd never taken you off of Beck's hands in the first place!" He stopped his tirade, his face flushed and his chest heaving.

"I told you that you were a liar," she said, quieter than before. "How can you love me if you wish you'd never met me?" With astounding speed, she fled the room and the mansion, running full-speed to somewhere, anywhere, just _away,_ anyplace that Roger wasn't would be just fine.

Well, she had managed to get the truth out of him. At least that was something. Now she knew what course of action must be taken: she would hire herself out as a maid for another person and resign from her job with Roger. That was all there was to it, really. How could she stay with him now, now that he had his lover with him, now that they had joined forces against her in some kind of twisted practical joke? No, she would not stand for that. Just because she appeared to have no emotions within her did not give others license to belittle her struggles to free them.

She reached the repair shop just before sunset. She had a lot of questions she needed answered. Her only wish was that the repairperson who examined her was a woman… It would be awfully awkward to ask a man some of those things…

"Android troubles?" Angel asked, as Roger returned to the kitchen, where she was cooking pasta over the large stove.

"Something like that," he replied, sitting on a nearby stool with his head in his hands.

Suddenly, his head shot up and he looked over at her.

"What are you wearing?" He asked, scandalized.

"This?" She turned around, looking puzzled. "Roger, their just sweats."

"No, no, that's not what I mean. Is that… pink?" He narrowed his eyes in something like distaste.

"Yes. Don't tell me you have a dress code here?" She asked, an eyebrow raised incredulously.

"Actually yes, I do." He said, in a half-embarrassed and half matter-of-fact sort of way.

"Oh… I'm sorry," she returned to the stove. "What should I be wearing?"

"Black," was his blunt reply.

"Well…" She trailed off, apparently thinking very hard. "You know, I don't think I own anything black… Actually… How strange…" Her finger had come to her chin in thought. "Come to think of it… Everything I own is pink. Huh. Now that's odd."

Roger was backing away from her very slowly, as though she would turn on him and attack if he made any sudden movements.

"I'd never noticed that before, isn't that funny!" She laughed, oblivious, and turned to see that Roger had fled the kitchen, the door still swinging precariously on its hinge.

"I guess he's not a fan of pink…" She muttered to herself, totally unconcerned, and continued to cook her pasta.

(Well… Here's a short chapter for you. I just couldn't write anything more until I got this one out. I hope that satisfies the Angel fans… I managed to flame her without really being all that bitchy about it. Hope you like it.)


	9. Chapter 9 Epilogue

Disclaimer: I do not own Big O.

Chapter 9 - Epilogue

The time had come for Roger to take some serious action. Plan A had not worked in the slightest, in fact, it had only managed to piss her off (to his great dismay). Why was she upset, anyway? He had finally managed to come out with it and she thought he was playing some kind of practical joke on her… But then why would she think it was cruel? If he had told her he loved her and she didn't give a damn, she probably would have just shrugged it off and given that false, mechanical smile that she had whenever a joke was told and she didn't quite know how to respond.

However, she had not done that. Could that possibly mean what he hoped it meant? Could she care about him, too? He had been counting on it, and it would be disastrous if he was wrong. Even if she didn't love him back, he would still want her to stay with him. But would she want the same thing?

So many questions and conflicted thoughts ran through Roger's mind as he got into his car and sped down the street. She had gone to the repair shop, and he had to get there before she could leave and be lost to him forever!

"Well, Miss Wayneright, what seems to be the problem?" Asked the repairwoman in the light blue overalls. Her mousy brown hair was done up in a tight bun, and she was very thin. Her thinness did not seem to be healthy, however, but in any case, she seemed to be a good-natured person.

"My head doesn't feel right. I think something may be broken," she said from her seat on the table.

The repairwoman turned Dorothy around and pressed a button, opening the back of her head.

"Hmm," said the woman. She made a series of noises, none of which gave any indication of what may or may not be wrong. After some minutes of waiting and antsy anticipation, Dorothy finally spoke.

"Is there anything wrong?" She asked.

"Well, there is one or two things that seem to have been overloaded and then overheated, but they're not essential to your functioning. Since they're pretty much useless in there as they are, it would be good to remove them."

"Will I lose any functions with these?" She was apprehensive.

"There are several, but none of the androids I've relieved of these specific chips have ever come back to me wanting replacements. What the chips are normally supposed to do is tighten your master's control over you. If he makes a command they force you to obey whether you want to or not. Without these, you'll be able to choose your own loyalties and which orders to follow and so on. Make sense?"

"I think so," Dorothy replied. That would explain a lot of things. "So they control free will, then. Do they control my emotions?"

The woman seemed rather taken aback.

"Emotions?" Dorothy heard her voice become thoroughly stricken. "Well, to be honest, no one is really sure what makes androids exhibit emotions. There's been a lot of controversy about it, ever since the very first models were created. Mind you, this was a long time before everyone lost their memories, so our ancestors managed to get very advanced in this particular type of technology. Some people think that the androids are simply imitating, as their artificial intelligence prompts them to do. This means that after being around humans for a long time, they themselves begin to exhibit human qualities and habits. Others believe the ghost in the shell theory, which suggests that after a while, androids actually form their own soul. Little blips of unexplainable positronic activity, of which even our extraordinary ancestors could not figure out, are actually thought to be feelings and original thoughts, which no one and nothing prompted or taught to the individuals who have been tested." The repairwoman was really getting in to her explanations, and Dorothy had to stop her before she went on and became lost in her own world.

"Which theory do you believe?" She asked.

"The latter, of course. I actually live with several androids, and when you've lived with them for as long as I have, you know that there's something more to them. I thoroughly believe that they all have souls. There's something in them that won't die and disappear when they can no longer function. I'm certain of it."

"Do you really think so?" Dorothy said, her voice just above a whisper. Could it be true?

"I do not think so. I know so," said the woman breathlessly. "Now! Would you like me to remove these broken chips?"

"Yes please."

"And will you be wanting any replacements?" The woman asked as she took up her pliers and began the work.

"No," Dorothy replied with a slight smile on her face.

"'Atta girl! Good for you! You have your own free will now, to do what you please and when you please. Isn't that nice?"

"I guess I'll find out," she said rather wistfully. "While you're back there, I have some things that I've always wanted to know, but there has never been anyone who knew, or who I could ask. Is it alright if I ask you?"

"Of course," she said warmly. "Ask away."

Roger pulled up to the curb in a fury. He would not let her get away from him this time! She had managed to run away from him too many times before. If he had to get Big O to get her to hold still and hear all of what he had to say, so be it! There was no way he would let her move in with Beck, in any case. The thought of that yellow-haired buffoon keeping Dorothy with him, touching her, having her cook for him, clean up after him, and live in his house, was just too much. If she threatened to go to Beck one more time, he swore he'd find a way to chain her to the piano outside his room.

As he sat in his car, a sudden thought came to him stemming from the chains, the piano, and Dorothy. A lecherous smirk appeared on his face, and he chuckled evilly. Then quite suddenly, he slapped a hand over his mouth, his eyes wide in shock. No! Bad Roger! However, that brought up a very good question…

He jumped as the door opened, letting in some of the cold night air, and in stepped Dorothy. She sat and shut the door behind her.

"Hello Roger," she said.

"Dorothy!" He said, gathering his scattered wits about him. "What…"

"I could have walked, but I appreciate the ride." There was a slight glow in her eyes as she spoke, but she refused to look at him.

"Listen, there's something that I need to talk to you about, and you can't leave until I finish."

"When we get home," she replied.

"No, now! I…"

"Roger." She turned to look at him, and he stopped, his mouth slightly open and his eyebrows raised. "Let's go home, ok?"

He sat for a moment, hesitant, but revved the engine and they were on their way.

"Are you still thinking about moving in with Beck?" He asked, trying very hard to keep his composure.

"No. To tell you the truth, I only said that to make you angry," she said.

"Well it worked." His voice was low and menacing.

"I'm sorry about that, but you did call me a robot."

"And you called me a liar!" He snapped.

There was silence.

"So then…" she began. "You weren't lying when you said…"

"No, I wasn't," he said matter-of-factly. "I don't know if you hadn't noticed this, but I'm not really the type to play practical jokes."

"I suppose not," she said wistfully.

Another long silence as Roger pulled into a dark and deserted parking lot, but she didn't seem to notice, even when he turned off the engine and pulled up the parking brake.

"What about Angel?" She asked suddenly, looking up at him. He looked down at her, a slight smile on his face.

"She and her boyfriend had a fight. She told me that it happens at least once a month, but they always make up. When they do fight, however, she normally goes to a friend's house, but her friend was out of town. So she came to me."

His smile turned into a grin.

"Were you jealous?" He inched his face close to hers.

She was silent for a moment, and then looked away.

"Roger Smith, you are a louse." She crossed her arms over her chest.

"Does that mean that you won't stay with me?"

"I'd like to stay, but…" She trailed off.

"But what?"

"Could you really except me as I am? You know that I'm an android, and I could never…" She couldn't bring herself to say it.

"That's never mattered to me, none of it. As long as you're by my side… I'd be happy." He seemed surprised at himself, as he had just managed to speak his mind to her without becoming flustered and frustrated.

"What do you say?" he asked, sounding slightly doubtful.

She suddenly threw herself into him, her face buried in his chest as he tried his best to remain calm and composed. Her arms wrapped around him, and he pulled her into an embrace. The stick shift and parking brake were obstacles, but he managed to lift her over them and onto his lap with little effort.

"What do I say?" She asked into his chest.

"You could say that you love me, and always have. Telling me I'm handsome might help, too," was his suggestion.

She took him completely by surprise as she raised her head and the corners of her mouth lifted into her first ever genuine and heartfelt smile.

"I said that I loved you every time I played the piano outside your room. You just never noticed."

They were suddenly caught up in a feverishly passionate kiss, and when they parted, their chests were heaving. Roger's hair was scrambled and his tie was askew. Dorothy's black sweatshirt had somehow managed to rip along the back, as Roger had torn at it. Looking into each other's eyes in the interval, they began to kiss once more, and articles of clothing began to fly to the backseat. When Dorothy's hands found the fly of Roger's pants, he stopped her.

"Wait… I thought that you couldn't…" He trailed off.

"Yes, I can. I asked the person at the repair shop. But I'm barren," and she continued to undo his fly.

"Oh…We can always adopt," he said breathlessly and then moaned loudly as she did something he hadn't really expected.

When they arrived back at the mansion, the dawn was beginning to arrive. Quietly, they made their way to Roger's room. Before they could enter, however, Dorothy stopped him. She sat at the piano, and began to play. He leaned against his door, listening and waiting.

This was Mozart, the man who she had been so jealous of, and the man who composed music with his soul. This music reminded her of her place in the world, and that was at Roger's side. This music told her that she had someone to take care of her, and someone who would always be there for her. It made her heart leap in rejoice, because she was no longer one of those poor forsaken who was doomed to die a lonely death. She had her love to sustain her, and she would never be lonely again.

With her piano sonata, she told her love that all of the things that she had never been able to say in words.

"I love you Roger. I would never leave you. At your side is where I'm happy, and that's where I'd like to stay, for as long as we both have life in us."

As she finished her sonata, she shut the top of the piano, and took Roger by the hand. Slowly and tenderly, he brought his lips to hers and put his arms around her snugly. Her arms went around his neck and the kiss deepened.

After several moments, the two pulled back, lips swollen and chests heaving. They went in, locked the door behind them, and stayed there for a very, very long time.

Owari

(Well, I hope you liked it. That's the end, folks. I'm considering writing a lemon version, as I think it would be rather fun to write, but I'm not decided yet. We'll see. Tell me if you'd want to see that on the adult fanfiction site, or if you wouldn't. I really hope you enjoyed this story, as it was a great deal of fun (and hard work) to write. I just can't explain how rewarding this ending is to me. :)

QueSeraSera)


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